


Plight of the Official Observer

by ultharkitty



Series: Playing With Terrorcons [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixshot is fed up with Blot following him around, so Hun-Grrr makes a deal with Vortex (and Swindle by extension) for Vortex to interface with Blot in the hope it'll settle him down. Swindle gets to watch, whether he likes it or not.</p><p>Written for the <a href="http://tf-rare-pairing.livejournal.com/">tf_rare_pairing</a> January 2012 Challenge, 'through another's eyes'.</p><p>Beta'd by Ayngelcat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plight of the Official Observer

Swindle wanted to see Sixshot spike Vortex. Even better, he wanted to _feel_ it, hooked up to the rotary as soon as possible afterwards, their databanks synchronised and the memory shared.

It would be the culmination of the most entertaining transaction he'd entered into since the move to Charr.

Swindle did not, however, want to watch Vortex spiking Blot. Or being spiked by Blot, or flirting with Blot, or touching Blot, or even being in the same room as Blot.

Stinky, Sixshot-obsessive, leaky, disgusting, cognitively deficient Blot.

And yet here Swindle was, the official observer, living his own personal slice of the Pit so that Vortex could get to be fragged by Sixshot. The reward had better be worth it.

"You clean up nice," Vortex lied, and Swindle had a job to stop himself from laughing. Blot cleaned up acceptably, if you lacked olfactory sensors, and your optics were malfunctioning. The Terrorcon sat nervously on the edge of the bunk, a subtle yet horribly persistent odour wafting from his joints, while Vortex did his best impression of someone who was trying to get laid.

Sure, Hun-Grrr had arranged for a thorough clean-up, inside and out. But Swindle was beginning to suspect that Blot had weirder internal geography than mere scrubbing brushes and pressure hoses could cope with.

"No need to be scared," Vortex purred. "Cutthroat's in the next room, and Swindle here ain't gonna let me do anything to you that you don't want." To Swindle's dismay, Vortex followed up the sugary lie by flicking his glossa lightly over Blot's audial.

Blot squirmed. "Tickles!" he snapped, but Vortex had frozen, the oddest expression on his face.

The rotary licked him again. Then a third time, but with zero emphasis on teasing. In fact, it gave Swindle the very solid impression that Vortex was tasting the Terrorcon. "Well frag me."

"What?" Blot bounced away, landing on the end of the bunk. " _Now?_ I thought that's what we _were_ doin'. Gettin' ready to do. I need a long run up! Hun-Grrr never let me read the manual!"

More's the pity, Swindle thought. If he had, Vortex could have fragged Blot into recharge already and snuck over to the corner for a little consolation with his team mate.

Vortex licked his lips. "How long a run up?" But he was smiling, and it looked genuine.

Blot squirmed. "I dunno, never done it with an outsider before."

"Not even Sixshot?" Vortex said. He crept closer, on all fours across the bunk. His rotors bounced.

"Sixshot's not an outsider," Blot snarled, then he gasped as Vortex grabbed his… his… Swindle had no idea what it was that Vortex grabbed, but it was blue and attached to the Terroron's shoulder, and after he'd grabbed it Vortex began to lick it with every sign of enjoyment.

"Tell me what it's like with your team," Vortex murmured, and Swindle had the urge to bash his head against the wall. Now was _not_ the time to turn this into an interrogation. Now was the time to flip the glitch over and screw him so hard he forgot his own name. And passed out. For the rest of the cycle.

"Urrr…" Blot wore a very familiar expression. It was composed of 50% confusion, 10% arousal, and 40% concern, and was the expression most people seemed to develop when Vortex took an interest in them.

"Let me put it another way," Vortex said quietly, and Swindle could have done without seeing him push Blot gently back onto the bunk. As for what he did with his hand, Swindle's plating began to itch. "How do they get you all revved up?"

"How do they what?" Blot squeaked, his optics widening in what Swindle could only interpret as awed terror. He squirmed, and Swindle winced. Sure, Vortex knew what he was doing, but a few licks and a quick grope shouldn't be enough to trigger auto-release on anyone's covers.

Swindle dimmed his optics. Maybe if he gave the scene soft focus, and only really looked at Vortex, it wouldn't burn itself so irrevocably into his short term memory that it'd be the only thing his mind's eye was capable of seeing for the next forty vorns.

Then Vortex began licking again, and Swindle knew he just wasn't that lucky.

* * *

It went on forever. Or so it seemed to Swindle.

As he (reluctantly) watched the rotary slowly and - for him - gently pound Blot into the bunk, he calculated the cost of a full service, plus oil bath and thorough wax and polish. Vortex would have to pay for it, obviously, but there was no way he could refuse. Not after being that close to Blot, and for so long.

As he watched, Swindle couldn't help but make his own observations. He didn't know what kind of interfacing Blot was used to, but this wasn't it. Everything seemed to surprise him, a few things unnerved him, and absolutely nothing whatsoever seemed to wear him out. It was like he was hooked up to the mains. He bounced his way through several overloads - and Swindle didn't even want to think about whether or not Vortex was faking it - without any loss of enthusiasm or energy.

Swindle, by contrast, was flagging fast. He slumped in his seat, and leant his head against the wall. His optics dimmed further, although not on purpose, and his sensor net started to shut down. Frag, he needed to recharge.

"Swin!"

Swindle awoke to a pungent stench, and someone shaking him by the shoulder.

"Swin, time's up! I did it!"

"Di' whu'?" Swindle said, as his databanks struggled to boot. "Wassgoin'on?"

"Blot!" Vortex declared. "He's out. Finally."

"You stink." Swindle shut his vents and leaned back. " _Sigma…_ "

Vortex shook him again. "C'mon, Swin, wake up, there's somethin' you gotta do. Before he comes online again."

Swindle pushed Vortex away. "You'll get his ick on me. And I ain't goin' anywhere near him."

"But you gotta!" Vortex's optics blazed, and suddenly all Swindle could see was the rotary's face. "I think they painted him with something, he tastes like high grade and rust sticks and oil cake, and you gotta try him!"

"No I don't," Swindle said. Glancing past Vortex, he saw Blot sprawled on the bunk, a satisfied smile on his face, and unmentionable goo leaking from his joints.

"You gotta do it now," Vortex said. "It's wearing off. C'mon!"

Why Vortex was so keen to share this new experience, Swindle didn't think he'd ever know. What he did know, was that there was nothing in the known universe that could entice him to lick Blot. Well, very few things. Nothing Vortex possessed, anyway.

"No," Swindle said flatly. "Would you look at that, time really is up, and our sentence is over." He heaved himself out of the chair and lurched for the door. He got two steps before Vortex spun him around, shoved him against the wall, and gave him a second-hand taste of Blot's amazing temporary polish via the medium of a deep and rather forceful kiss.

"Mmmph!" Swindle smacked him on the helm, but it made no difference. And actually, there was a taste. Faint, and mingled with the usual taste of Vortex, but it was certainly there. And it wasn't at all unpleasant. The stench, however, was nasty, and persistent. And it was getting worse. Swindle gave it a few more astroseconds before the slow seep of the smell into his closed vents made him push Vortex away. "Washracks," he said. Vortex didn't complain.

* * *

The role of official observer, Swindle thought, was a harsh one.

Rules of no contact were all well and good when faced with Blot, but Onslaught and Sixshot were in an entirely different league. Swindle lounged in his official observer's chair, a cube of high grade balanced on his knee, and listened to the squeal and grind of metal over the hum of his fans.

Every time he recalibrated his optics he saw Blot's weirdly shaped aft bobbing up and down, and the rest of the time his visual field filled with things that made parts of him ache so hard it hurt. Onslaught looked small beside Sixshot, and even smaller beneath him, and Vortex caught between them looked like the smallest and happiest rotary ever to emerge from the Kaon factories. And hot scrap, but they looked good together. Really good.

He was lucky they let him in. 'Official observer' was a flimsy pretence, but Sixshot seemed to think it was fair, and Onslaught agreed on the condition he could mark it up as a team bonding exercise. Vortex was understandably keen on the idea, and it wasn't until it got to the point where Sixshot actually did spike Vortex that Swindle began to have any regrets.

He sipped his high grade, drawing the fumes deep into his vents to get rid of the phantom odour of Blot. Sixshot changed the angle of his thrusts; Vortex yelped and Swindle grinned. Official observer was indeed a difficult role, but he'd tough it out.


End file.
